I thought it would last my time—
The sense that, beyond the town,
There would always be fields and f
Where the village louts could clim
Such trees as were not cut down;

To step over the low wall that div
Road from concrete walk above the
Brings sharply back something know
The miniature gaiety of seasides.
Everything crowds under the low ho

There is May in books forever;
May will part from Spenser never;
May’s in Milton, May’s in Prior,
May’s in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer;
May’s in all the Italian books:—

My fancies are fireflies, —
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.
he voice of wayside pansies,
that do not attract the careless g

There are similarities
I notice: that the hills
which the eyes make flat as a wall
together, open as I move
to let me through; become

I know someone who kisses the way
a flower opens, but more rapidly.
Flowers are sweet. They have
short, beatific lives. They offer
much pleasure. There is

A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could the
Said the fly, “let us flee!”
“Let us fly!” said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the

I’d seen
their hoofprints in the deep
needles and knew
they ended the long night
under the pines, walking

A million million spermatozoa
All of them alive;
Out of their cataclysm but one poo
Dare hope to survive.
And among that billion minus one

What is reality?
I am a plaster doll; I pose
with eyes that cut open without la
upon some shellacked and grinning
eyes that open, blue, steel, and c

Don’t call this world adorable, or
It’s frisky, and a theater for mor
The eyelash of lightning is neithe
The struck tree burns like a pilla
But the blue rain sinks, straight

you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they
are not.
those odd ones, not